


Go and Catch a Falling Star

by EmSonderling



Series: Bingo Prompts [1]
Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Genderbending, Howl's Moving Castle AU, Ian makes an appearance, Pre-Relationship, Snapshot/Slice of Life, Snarky fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSonderling/pseuds/EmSonderling
Summary: Tasertricks. Howl's Moving Castle AU. Need I say more?Prompted by the lovely @Gyoro_and_Ururun.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Loki
Series: Bingo Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623547
Comments: 17
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gyoro_and_Ururun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyoro_and_Ururun/gifts).



> HI AO3 I MISSED YOU.  
> Life has been crazy, I moved countries, Adulting is a Process, but I'm gonna start carving out time for fic again.
> 
> This fic is a Howl's Moving Castle AU, but I'm stealing elements of both movie and book. If you've never seen/watched them, you should--  
> but here's some backstory for clarity [SKIP IF YOU'RE ALREADY FAMILIAR WITH HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE]:  
> -Sophie (Darcy in this case) is under a curse that has turned her into an old woman. Through shenanigans, she finds herself living under the roof of wizard Howl (Loki), a notorious sorcerer.  
> \- Though she dismisses much of the infamy preceding Howl (who turns out to be rather self-absorbed), she *does* make a bargain with Howl's companion, the fire demon Calcifer. If Sophie is able to break an unspecified pre-existing contract between Calcifer and Howl, Calcifer will also break her curse, and return her to her youthful self.  
> -More shenanigans ensue as Sophie tries to figure out the exact nature of Howl & Calcifer's contract.  
> -Oh, and they all live in a giant, moving castle.
> 
> Titles from the poem "Song" which plays an important role in the book.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

“ _ You. _ ”

“ _ I. _ At least, I can only assume you are referring to my magnanimous self, based on the direction in which you’ve extended that irritably gnarled old appendage.”

“You  _ unbelievable _ \--” Darcy’s voice trailed off with the high-teakettle squeak she’d had to grow accustomed to, since becoming old. She had a number of curses with which to afflict Loki on the tip of her tongue, but none seemed quite  _ violent _ enough to contain the full volume of her feelings. Perhaps actual violence was the answer. Smashing the trickster’s head in with her broom would probably get the message across just as effectively.

“If you kill him, you’ll never get that curse off…” Came a crackling voice from behind her, just loud enough for Darcy’s aged ears to pick up.

“If I kill him, you’ll still be free of that pesky little contract you refuse to tell me anything about,” Darcy crackled back. Momentarily distracted from Loki (who was strumming his glittering lute and ignoring her, the loon), Darcy jabbed her “irritably gnarled” finger at the demon in the hearth instead.

Hissing, Surtur dodged the prodding appendage. The yellow flames of his eyes were somehow reproachful as they flickered at Darcy.

For a supposedly deadly and heartless creature, Surtur was not particularly intimidating. True, the demon’s face was shaped not unlike a charcoal human skull wreathed in flames; but any frightening effect Surtur’s visage might have engendered was ruined by the almost comically overlarge horn-like brows sticking out to either side of a three-inch high head. The old (young) Darcy would have burst out laughing at the sight, and no doubt made a number of jokes about eyebrow grooming. Current (old) Darcy had retained her snark, but not quite as much humor.

“Watch it,” Loki’s fire demon sparked. “If you self-immolate, we’ll both be out of the metaphorical frying pan.”

Old (young) Darcy would have snapped her fingers in appreciation of the pun. Surtur had picked up punnery from Darcy and Loki’s verbal sparring, and had developed something of an ego. Current (old) Darcy was a touch too grumpy to appreciate the wordplay.

“Answer the question,” Darcy said. She poked at the demon again, calling Surtur’s bluff. “If I kill Sir Sings-a-lot over there, will it end your contract?”

“In a manner of speaking…” the fire demon huffed, belching a little tongue of blue flame. “Don’t test it, please. I suspect that course of action will lead us to desolation.”

“Thanks a lot, Smaug,” Darcy grumbled. 

Surtur stabbed a violet-flamed tongue in Darcy’s direction, though it was still well-clear of her fingers.

“I preferred  _ The Hobbit _ in film,” Loki drawled, from his place at the table. “Far more dramatics and tears, as befitting a tale of kings and dragons and the ignominious greed of men.”

“Speaking of ignominity,” Darcy said, catching a whiff of eau-de-sheep, and recalling her early wrath. “Loki, would you care to explain yourself?”

The shapeshifting sorcerer raised one of his trailing emerald sleeves in a dramatic flourish. “Certainly, dear old Darcy. Though I once believed myself a Child of Odin, I, Loki, greatest and most inventive of all enchanters, tragically discovered that my heritage lies in Jotunheim, and--”

“Oh, stop trying to slither out of this.” Darcy snapped. “I don’t need the sob story.”

This time, it was Loki who poked a (decidedly forked) tongue out at her.

Darcy narrowed her eyes. She was quite certain the expression pulled at her wrinkles in a decidedly unflattering way--the more unsightly she looked, the better. Loki’s general distaste for anything not of aesthetic value might force him to actually confront the issue at hand, if only to make her slightly less visually offensive. 

“Loki.” She started again, her old voice crackling colder than Surtur’s bluest flame. “Explain the enormous, stinking pile of wet floccus occupying a not insignificant part of this establishment,” she drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “ _ Please _ .”

Oddly enough, the shapeshifting trickster almost flinched on the last word. Had she not been paying as close attention to his face, she wouldn’t have noted the way his mouth quirked in chagrin.

Then he cast a baleful green-eyed gaze at the veritable haystack of wool, wet and smelly, that occupied approximately ⅔ of the room. Wool he had magicked, for some unknown reason, into the castle early that morning. Wool whose presence he was  _ going to explain, Frigga help her. _

Loki coughed. “Yes. That.”

He coughed again, then strummed a few out-of-tune chords on his bedazzled lute

“It came to my attention that you are...unhappy. Bored, even. I thought a gift of something to keep you busy would be sufficient. I overheard you complaining to Surtur of a lack of fiber to supply your knitting, and thought, as your most generous employer, that I might trouble myself to provide compensation.”

If she were younger, Darcy might have missed the slightest deferential hunch of Loki’s shoulders, the way his eyes flicked down to the floor before back to her. Old Darcy, however, was a sharp old biddy, and recognized the body language of a shy child. It surprised her momentarily. Then she recovered her grouchiness.

_ He should have asked first _ , she thought, scowling darkly, feeling the way the expression pulled at her wrinkles.  _ If Odin were a significantly less useless parent, Loki might just have a healthier relationship with open communication. And less...compensative issues. _

The thought was almost enough to make her snicker. But that wasn’t appropriate  _ at all _ for the situation at hand. And if nothing else, Darcy was going to have her retribution in the form of an apology.

“But..” Darcy prompted.

Loki sighed. “But, now I see my judgement was in error.”

Was it possible? Did he look--contrite? Even the glittering jewel in his ear seemed somehow dimmed, the green shimmer smeared over his eyelids more like tragic tears than vain peacocking.

Then Darcy blinked. And realized her own error. 

“Don’t you use magic on me, sonny-boy,” she snarled. “Do you know how long it would take to spin this much wool? The time for dying? Even drying the stuff would be a monumental pain in my old--”

“Please,” Loki cried, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. “Spare me the optical impression of your posterior, lest I be consumed by anhedonia.”

“Only if you apologize.” Darcy said, mulishly. Behind her, she thought she could hear Surtur crackling with wicked laughter. (It might just have been her aged, buzzy ears, though.) “Else I’ll treat you to my withered unmentionables. Scar you for life. Teach you not to sass your elders.”

“I…” Loki cracked open one eye, caught sight of Darcy’s expression, and seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say. “...apologize. Dear, darling, devilish Darcy--will you ever forgive me for my inconsiderate ways?”   
  


“That’s more like it,” Darcy sniffed. “I shall consider your apology.”

Loki’s puppy-dog-simper vanished immediately. “Most excellent! Then I shall rectify my mistake immediately. With a much more appropriate present, for a woman of your advanced age, I think? Ta, Darcy dear.”

He planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and with a twirl of shimmering emerald robes and dazzling white teeth, Loki (and the pile of wet wool) vanished, leaving only the faintest odor of minty perfume and sodden sheep behind.

Darcy only very nearly stopped herself from having an aneurysm on the spot. Then she took a deep, steadying breath, and let it go. Then she sat down, cheeks warm with an emotion she did not care to name, and turned towards the fire demon. “Did he just--”

“Slither out?” Surtur rolled his “Yes. Serpentine, slithy cad, isn’t he? With a heart to match. I’d know.” 

Loki might be a heartless cad (and other words that would have once turned her ears red just to think of), but he was still her best chance at breaking the curse. Darcy would just have to bear his nonsense for the time being. And in the meantime, she could come up with a few (mostly) harmless ways to revenge herself on the enchanter. Ways that would make her younger, prankster,  _ true _ self proud.

From the hearth, Surtur chuckled in a hiss of spitting flames. “Remind me to tell you about the time Thor asked for a lizard as a pet, and Loki brought him back a bilgesnipe…”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2: In which Loki is Sophie and Darcy is Howl. Ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally following up with the gender-bent version! I tried to do right by some of the dynamics of the og novel, with the whimsy of the film? Hope you enjoy!!

As with every tragic morning since Odin first cursed him, Loki finds himself awakened by incipient, obnoxious  _ snoring _ . 

Of course, upon wakening fully, Loki is furious to realize the snores are his own. If not for the existing curse, which quite infuriatingly prevents him from using personal magic, Loki would cast another dozen curses on this—this  _ prison _ of a body. It creaks and squeaks and groans with all the charm of a mangled tea kettle! It’s just as leaky, too.

In truth, it isn’t the age of his present form that irks Loki so. For a shapeshifter, gifted with the inherent ability to change gender, age, and shape at will, the true agony of the situation is confinement to a single, static body. 

When Thor deemed Odin “an old man and a fool,” their monocular excuse for a patriarch had _only_ expelled him from Asgard and stripped him of his powers. At the top of Loki’s To-Do-Once-Reinstated-In-All-My-Former-Glory List:

  1. Revenge.



(Well, after that.)

  1. Make a case for the unfair double-standards younger siblings are subjected to, before the formal tribunal of Asgard. 
  2. More revenge, hopefully involving a good deal of grovelling from Odin… 



The chamber door CRASHES open, rudely interrupting Loki’s internalized soliloquy. He certainly does  _ not _ jump in surprise at the sudden noise. Nor does the motion cause his back muscles to cramp painfully. 

“Good Morning!” Darcy Lewis, she of trailing knitted sleeves and glossy dark hair, flies past him with altogether too much pep for any Midgardian to possess at this early hour. Even if she is a sorceress. The cloying scent of her caffeinated vice of choice fills the chamber, like an odious natural perfume. Her hapless apprentice, Ian of London, follows, gently shutting the door behind him. 

Darcy Lewis snaps her fingers, and Ian steps up obediently to remove her knit cap and scarf. Loki sneers a touch at Ian’s long-suffering obsequiousness, as he always does. The spineless whelp is constantly under Lewis’ well-manicured thumbs… 

“No, it isn’t,” Loki snarls, stumping from his humble bed over to the pantry. Had Loki not had a vested interest in keeping Darcy Lewis alive to break his curse, he would’ve allowed both the sorceress and her apprentice to keep consuming the Midgardian ‘rah-men’ that barely passed for sustenance. He doesn’t care how often Darcy Lewis insists that the nutrient-bare threads of fiber kept her alive through the coming-of-age ordeal of College; as a former Prince of Asgard, Loki flatly refuses to settle for less than meager table scraps when dining. 

Even if he has to do all the cooking himself.

Besides, Odin’s curse had one stipulation: magic done for the sake of others was perfectly allowed. Loki has always prided himself on the ability to locate and unscrupulously slither through a technicality. 

Busying himself with skillet and spatula, Loki certainly misses the look exchanged between Darcy Lewis and her apprentice. Only when the sorceress comes up alongside him to proffer the egg carton does he deign to acknowledge her presence.

“Something wrong, Mister Witch?” Darcy Lewis asks, with far too much concern. It makes Loki’s wrinkled old skin crawl. “Aches and pains troubling you?”

“Not at all,” Loki grits out, rather ruining the effect when picking up the skillet, which causes his elbow to audibly  _ pop _ . 

Before he can so much as curse, Darcy Lewis runs a delicate hand down his arm. Immediately, the little agonies in his muscles and joints ease. Loki opens his mouth—to complain about the unnecessary use of magic, to question Darcy Lewis’ sudden ability to use healing spells when just last week he was preventing she and Ian from blowing themselves to bits on a Spell of Power,  maybe even to thank her —

When she slaps him on the back hard enough to unbalance the skillet in his hand. He manages to save the bacon just in time. 

“Can’t have our Master Chef suffering from stiff limbs!” Darcy Lewis says cheerily, before turning back to the work bench. Carelessly, she tosses over her shoulder, “Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with. It’s no trouble at all!”

If anyone were to ask, Loki’s face is only warm from leaning over the heat of the pan. 

When he finally serves breakfast, scattering Ian and Darcy’s notes with a quick wind spell, he expects her to at least snap at him. He could do with a good fight, to get this old body’s blood up and moving.

“Thank you very much,” is all Darcy Lewis says, with maddening magnanimity. She smiles benignly at him, the gap between her teeth particularly noticeable, blue-green eyes sparkling behind glasses she doesn’t need, but wears anyways.  _ Who ever heard of a sorceress who didn’t so much as cure her own blemishes, not to mention perfect her atrocious vision, the moment she was powerful enough? _

(Ian thanks him too, tremulously, as if afraid Loki will bite. Loki wouldn’t deign to stoop so low.)

Loki just growls into his plate of scrambled eggs. The growl...continues. 

Despite the deafness plaguing one ear, Loki is quite certain that the sound isn’t coming from him, no matter how dyspeptic he’s been of late. Instead, it’s coming from… 

“Darcy Lewis,” he begins, slowly, “what are you keeping in your pocket?”

This time, it’s Ian who goes pink. Loki begins to wonder just  _ where _ the two impudent scallions got off to while he was asleep.

“Oh, that,” Darcy says, blithely sawing away at her bacon. “Jane wanted a pet! And I thought we could do better than some shitty Midgardian fish that she’d inevitably kill, so I sent a missive off to Heimdall. Ian and I would’ve asked you to come, for your expertise, but we know you like to lie in on a Thursday—”

The growl is growing in volume. 

“Darcy Lewis, I swear on my mother’s most beloved blade, if you’ve brought into this house what I think you’ve brought—”

Before Loki can finish his threat, Darcy’s coat pocket bursts into flame.    
  


What follows is a great deal of shouting, outraged magics, and general mayhem. Of course, Loki  _ only _ contributes in the form of rational, cool-headed rescuative spells. He certainly doesn’t throw out his back in attempting to keep Ian from stumbling over one of Darcy’s  _ three _ escaped salamanders. It’s only when the trio of fire-breathing lizards have been captured in microwave-safe enchanted tupperware (Midgardian sorcerers do have some ingenuity, after all), that Loki recovers himself enough to realize that Darcy is  _ laughing _ .

It isn’t...the horrible braying guffaw he’d expected from her uncouth, all too-expressive mouth.

Far from it.

Well, Loki supposes that he can admit it, at least to himself: babysitting wayward Midgardian sorceresses might be a cruel punishment for Odin to inflict upon him, but at least it isn’t boring.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple more thoughts on this AU:  
> \+ Odin definitely devised the punishment, but it was Frigga who sent Loki to Darcy. Mayhaps she thought that being around a compassionate human could be good exposure for Loki? ;)  
> +In the HMC book, magic tends to express itself in a way that correlates with something about the user's personality. Similarly, Darcy's magic lends itself best to doing good for others:) Ian's magic lends itself best to helping Darcy help others.  
> +Jane and Selvig are off being brilliant Astro-physicists on Midgard as in canon, Darcy just happens to also be a sorceress with an RV that doubles as her moving castle, and likes to help them out. She very happily welcomed Loki into the fold, they needed *someone* who could cook!  
> +If you were to ask Loki, he'd say Darcy is his apprentice in advanced magical arts. If you asked Darcy, she'd say that Loki is her apprentice in appreciating life. If you asked Ian, he'd say he's the apprentice's apprentice, but couldn't tell you which is which.  
> +No fire demons in this one, sorry! Couldn't think of a good way to fit them in. I substituted it with explosively-hatching baby salamanders?
> 
> Take care of yourselves, and have a lovely day!!

**Author's Note:**

> I was halfway through the prompt when I thought "Hey why didn't I make this prompt a gender bend? that would be so fun?????!" But by that point this was so far along I couldn't let it go to waste...  
> So guess what Chapter 2 is ;p
> 
> Thanks for reading<3


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